


In thunder, lightning, and in rain

by raviollie



Series: all-seeing sun [1]
Category: Beholder (Video Game), Beholder 2
Genre: Anyway no L bombs no nothing just a slice of life after the main cinematics, Canonical Character Death, Gen, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, James centered, M/M, Uploading this so that I can find this later on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 03:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17480393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raviollie/pseuds/raviollie
Summary: James thinks he's the first one seeing the body outside of the ministry that day.The body is as much a big deal as the man once was, of course. Then it becomes a topic during lunch breaks. Then people forget about it like yesterday's rain.Like anything in the ministry, really.Somehow in this new cycle of rumours and gossips, James feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb.He feels the need to understand it all and to cope with it.He tries to, anyway.-Wrote this when I was drunk, fixed some typos but left everything else intact. Hope it's a fun read for you as it was a fun scribble for me.





	In thunder, lightning, and in rain

 

-

 

 

He’s one of the first people who saw _his_ body. The guards were the first, of course. And then the passersby, and then some others walking out from the ministry, looking for a spot out of the rain suitable for a brief smoke break.

He likes to think that he’s the first one **relevant** to witness it.

A body- **_His_** body. Lying among the shards that are as glassy as his eyes, gushing blood caressed and washed off gently by the rain.

He passes through the guards and they let him. They expect him to show up at a crime scene even though it’s as recent as half a minute ago.

The productivity in the ministry truly is something to behold.

He kneels in front of _his_ body, trying not to think about the irony.

First time ever he bends down one knee for him, it has to be this one.

He swallows hard. Examines **Caleb’s** \- _That- Body._

It’s difficult to think and even more difficult to look. But he forces his brain to do the job he’s done so many times before.

The body is still warm. He looks up, trying to blink off the rain. A fall from the top of the ministry, as obvious as it is.

Must search it, then.

 

 

 

…Ah.

Search the top of the ministry.

The floor where the great leader is.

As if that was something he even had the right to ask for.

But then, even the top of the ministry is a part of the ministry. The thought shows up in his head and he ignores the thump in his heart. And as all things in the ministry goes, when his authority isn’t good enough…

His coughs out sharply, brows furrowing at the motion. Rain shaken down from his hair, blurring his vision once again.

When his authority isn’t good enough, he has to ask someone else. He has to _use_ someone else.

He doesn’t have many friends in the ministry, and reasonably so. As the chief investigator, he knows how to survive in this place. The higher ups leave him be, knowing that he won’t get into any of their affairs while the downtrodden are too afraid to even approach him. He’s fine with that. In the depth of his mind, he knows that he’s too proud to abuse his power and too smart to challenge it- all for his own good. He feigned loyalty many times, but then again, so does everyone. Loyalty means nothing here and he knows it well, but if there’s only one person in the whole world that he is- was- loyal to, it’s the man who’s currently on the ground in front of the ministry, cold as the stepping stones of this godforsaken place.

The realisation makes him feel useless.

 

 -

 

Hemnitz.

He doesn’t know why that’s the name he first thinks of.

But as crazy as it sounds, the man with a kind smile and a honest face might know someone.

He has heard rumours about Hemnitz from a guard or two who frequented the executions. At the time he brushed those rumours off without a second thought.

He didn’t deal with rumours. If anything, only hard evidences, facts and physical records that worked as the base of an investigation could interest him.

But now things are different. What he's trying to do requires him to either hammer down the system or skip the queue.

The former is laughably insane. The latter is risky.

_Unthinkably risky._

He takes a step up, almost knocking off balance by the sudden punch of dizziness roaring through his brain. With a last look at the body, he turns and pushes through the guards.

He has no leverage, no evidence, no proof of anything and nothing to blackmail Hemnitz with but he’s going to try. He’s going to ask Hemnitz and ask him nicely, knowing full well that that’s the last thing that works in the ministry.

But maybe- Just maybe-

 

 

 

“That’s crazy, even for you!” Hemnitz’s eyes widened, looks around and lowers his voice even though neither is necessary in James’ office. “You know that no one could go up to the great leader’s floor without his permission, right? Well, of course you do. I mean, I’m always one of the most productive employees on my floor, and I’ve never even heard of anything from the floor above, let alone all the way up there! You didn’t tell anyone else about this, did you? I’m going to pretend that I didn't hear that from you, but don't ever think about this again if you don’t’ have a death wish. I'm telling you this as a friend. And if you keep this nonsense up, I don't know how long I'll be able to be your friend.”

_If I don't have a death wish-_

But he does. _Here's something about death._ He thinks. _Not so hard to think if you're always prepared for it._

It's probably a mentality that most people have in this place. He muses.

The whole point, of course, is not to let it happen. And if it does, at bare minimum not to himself. Sometimes it requires more than a little effort, but he always manages to secure the bare minimum.

Some days are easier than the others, those days he would busy himself with work. There's always work to do if he wants it. There are always excuses not to be alone with his own thoughts.

But sometimes it gets difficult. Sometimes it gets **really** difficult.

And he would find himself completely alone. It's exhaustion that forbids him to do anything physically or mentally straining, and that leaves himself open. Vulnerable. Susceptible to thoughts, sensitive about his own individuality, his own being. He's not at all familiar with that, and it's days like those that he doesn't know what to do with himself. He would sit here as he is now because he doesn't know where else to sit or what else to do, he would stare at the grains running through the wood surface of his desk because he doesn't know where else to look. Those times he thinks he might look as lifeless as the furniture in this office. He watches each strand of the grains carefully, tracing each one of them, counting them again and again as if they would disappear to somewhere when he blinks.

And then he would think of the irony. He appreciates it, he usually does. Day in and day out he would sit here in this office, leaving and coming in the same person only with more blood on his hands where at this point it's no more than everyone else. At the end of the day he would still be here, quiet. Reducing his own existence to something inorganic. Negligible. Pretending that one day he really would be able to disappear to somewhere when they blink. Pretending that he wasn't just a bundle of grains through wood, stuck here on the cold surface of the edifice of order.

He still fights, yes, he does. Fighting has long become his instinct else he wouldn't even be here. But just as everyone else, he used to fight for a greater cause, then he fought for power, and now he fights only to survive.

Sometimes he found himself not alone when he thought he had to be. Sometimes Caleb would come in with a warm smile that James always thought was a glaring contrast to this place. James would gesture for him to sit on the chair opposite and he would.

Caleb would sigh, he would take off his glasses, rub his weariness off from his eyes and for a minute or for a long while they would just sit there, watching each other in silence.

James was able to read those eyes. They were more expressive than Caleb liked to think when they were not behind glasses. He would read them and he would see things that others couldn't. He saw the warmth that didn't agree with anything this place ever had to offer, the sharpness that recedes the moment Caleb looks at him and the exhaustion that settled in like the eternal swirl down at bottom of the ocean.

It pained him somehow. James always liked to think that Caleb never looked like he aged much, but he couldn't deny that the man was starting to show his age more and more each time they saw each other. But it wasn't age that's taken a toll on him, James thought. A man who's aged looks vastly different than a man who's exhausted.

They were both exhausted, have been for a long time. But everyday it ate Caleb up a little bit more than it would James himself.

Fending for himself has exhausted James and he isn't too proud to admit that. But with Caleb sitting across him, he found himself somewhat taken aback.

Caleb's exhaustion felt like like he's trying to fend for everyone while they circling around and closing in on him with hungry eyes like packs of wolves.

He wondered why, but Caleb never spoke of it, so he kept his mouth shut. He knew what's appropriate and what's not, and this was none of his business. He knew that he wasn't granted admission to that portion of Caleb's life that he wasn't privy to if he couldn't read it in Caleb's eyes.

He suddenly thought of the same pair of eyes he just saw.

Glassy. Clear. Loss of focus. He couldn't read anything from them. None at all.

And he realised that this was what made him more uncomfortable than the rest of the scene.

 

Death. A polite cough from the man in front of him brought him back to his initial thought.

Death.

He finds himself not as surprised at the fact that he doesn’t actually mind it. He doesn’t mind having one more death count on his own head for **_him._**

He casually straightens his back up and puts his elbows on the cold surface of his desk, pitching the tip of his fingers together. Hemnitz looks at him carefully, visibly shifting from foot to foot.

He thinks about it for a minute and tilts his chin slightly forward, looking at Hemnitz on a lazy angle.

 

If he tried to look less desperate as he felt when he called Hemnitz in, now he's not even making an effort to cover up the rumbling storm brewing behind his eyes. The stubbornness curled wryly around his edges made him look somewhat younger, roughly resembling himself thirty years ago when he first stepped into the ministry, thinking he could to do whatever he wanted with this place as long as he held the cause that he thought was right.

But without the sheepishness, without the crudeness, without the innocence or child-like wonder.

Only raw, unadulterated anger.

 

 

 

James doesn’t need anyone telling him how things work around here. He doesn’t mind how long his vengeance would take and how calculated he must be as long as he’s going to get what he wants.

He doesn’t care all that much. Not anymore. He’s going to make that son of a bitch regret this. Even if that son of a bitch was the great fucking leader of the state.

“Well…” Hemnitz does the face he does to everyone when they propose something stupid. And apparently, he thinks this is exceptionally stupid. He inhales sharply, prolonging his own hesitation in the air and steadying his nerves.

“Well, you see… I mean, I can’t believe this is happening. If anyone finds out, I’ll be dead. They- They will hang me right up, they’ll skin me alive, they’ll- I can’t believe I’m saying this. But James… listen carefully, because I’m only going to tell you this once. I don’t doubt it that you are confidential about most things, but this one is… You know what you're asking for. You know what risk you're trying to take. Well, there… There is a man. He’s… He... does things. Not my type of fellow, if you know… If you know what I mean. Dangerous, way too strange, I stay away from him, and if you would heed my warning at all- which I know you’re not going to- you’d stay away from him too. But, well… He has his own phone line and he won’t see you in person. And… I guess… That way you won’t know anything about him. Truth be told, I don’t even know anything about him. Not that I want to, and-”

He nods, understanding why. If any link in the plan breaks or the plan leaks out, the only one who’s going to pay would be James himself.

“What’s the catch?” He asks.

“I don’t know, I’ll give him your number, he’ll call you if he’s interested, I guess...” Hemnitz looks like he’s about to have a fainting fit. “...I know I said it already, but you **have** to be confidential about this. James, I really, really do hate to have to say this, especially to you, but this is serious and if anyone finds out, I will deny everything. I’ll say that I never had any part in this. But for your own sake, James, you can’t tell a soul, not even your parents, not even your wife.”

James snorted a little, finding it hard on his muscle to complete the motion "or a wife."

“I know that,” Hemnitz finally steadies himself as James opens the door for him. He thinks of something along the conversation they're currently having, and suddenly laughs. A nervous laugh, dry and hushed. His eyes glance at the people passing by with carts and papers. He mumbles halfheartedly, “That handsome bachelor on the 11th floor that every girl knows. What's the deal?”

James’ whole body stiffens for a second. He recovers before he thinks Hemnitz catches it, shrugging vaguely.

“Never had the time.”

 

 

 

“His son,” He said. Mouth dry as sandpaper. “will do my bidding.”

“Ouch.” The stranger speaks with a special kind of frivolousness that grinds on James’ nerves. “When you put it like that, it sounds like we're just using him. But yes, Evan Redgrave will execute our plan directly.”

“But I can do it myself. Surely. Why involve someone from outside of the ministry? Why _his son_?”

“I’m disappointed.” The stranger sounds like he’s pouting, just a little bit.” James Cunningham, the head of the investigation department, uses his pretty little head as mere decoration hanging on his neck. Think about this: it’s easier for you to step up the ladder, true. But pray tell, who will have the balls to bury the top dogs that’ll eventually get in your way? The best way for you to be useful is that you sit there in your office like a good boy and help him weed out the vipers on top. Well… As for Evan Redgrave- I’m sure he wants to figure out how dear old dad turned into a squeeze of tomato sauce as much as you do. I think the kid can go far, he has potential, and as a Redgrave-”

“He’ll want revenge as much as I do.”

“Correct.” The stranger clicked his tongue. “So, go ahead and put him in the ministry. Get him everything he needs and for now that will be that. Any more questions? Requests? Things that I haven’t cleared up for you, princess?”

“Only if I can talk to him after you do.” James said firmly, trying his best to disregard the condescension. “Only if I can make sure that nothing you tell him will hurt him.” He said, hoping the stranger doesn't catch the tension in his voice “Only if-”

“Asking me to babysit your kid will cost you extra.” The stranger chuckled. “I'll do you one better. You see, despite popular beliefs, I'm not so interested in opening up an orphanage and I'm not so eager to trade off my privacy in exchange for a scrawny little brat, if you catch my drift. Besides, you think he’d trust a random stranger on the phone? He didn’t grow up in the capital, sure, but he wasn’t born yesterday either. You, however, a dear old friend who takes good care of him in this big strange scary city- That would be a completely different story. I'm not going to reach out to him, and you will do all the talking for me. Whatever I want him to do will go through you before he even knows it. I believe that’s good enough for you, yes?”

He pulls back a sign of relief. That’s all he needs to know. Evan wouldn’t know better, but he does. He could teach him, he could protect him the way he wished he could have with-

“Yes.” He said. “That’s fair.”

“This will be fun.” The stranger takes a sip of whatever drink he has and lets out a half satisfied laugh.” It’s a deal, then.”

 

 

 

“Do you remember me?” He asks. Hoping the kid would say yes.

He almost choked on his boiling coffee when he first saw the kid at the arrival hall of the train station.

He had worried about it the night before, but he didn't think the kid would look exactly like the young man Caleb was. Before he arranged the journey, he had ordered his subordinates to pass a folder of the kid's personal information onto him with thousands of photos from 27 years ago till now. The kid looked gaunt with messy hair and a carefree smile on his face. Honest, lively, but unlike Caleb.

He felt relieved, ignoring the faint disappointment somewhere in the back of his head.

Evidently the photos didn't do Evan justice the same way they never did Caleb justice. The moment he saw Evan, he immediately recognised the same gleam in the young man's eyes, the same worrying looks on his face- same jawlines and same slump on the shoulders, even. A bit like his mother here and there too but so many things about this kid just knocked the air straight out of him.

 

 

So maybe it’s better if he says no. If Evan knew and trusted him enough to throw the question at him, what would he even say?

He thought he was prepared for this, for the kid, for that question.

_Not even close._

He'll probably say that he doesn’t know. He couldn’t tell the kid what he saw, how he felt- How he _feels_ -

He couldn’t. He feels like a coward dodging the question. The kid has the right to know and for god's sake he came all the way here just **to find out.**

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He looks at the young man standing right in front of him and for the first time ever he felt truly helpless.

He had let someone else fill the investigation report. He had let someone else close the case. He let himself go easy by keeping everything to himself and leaving it all to other people in the department and he wasn't sorry. No one had the right to know what he saw or how he felt. No one had the right to know what he knew.

No one except **Caleb's son** but even still he couldn't say it to his face.

 _Caleb is dead._ He says to himself. _Caleb is dead. It doesn't matter now._

But it does. Consciously he knows what happened and the truth weights even more when he saw it happen right in front of his eyes. He wasn't denying anything. He knows what happened. He couldn't say it.

As ridiculous as it is, he feels as if saying it out loud would make it even more real.

 

 

He asks the kid to wait for his phone call and leaves without a second of delay.

 

 

He forced a brief smile at his chauffeur and the latter pays him no mind. _Good,_ he thinks. _It wasn't that obvious then._

There are so many things he won’t tell anyone about. Not now, not ever. Facing the kid he feels more or less like a murderer in a confessional. Wants to say it. Wants a little bit of closure. Wants redemption even but he can’t do it. He can’t even bear talking to the kid for one more minute, can't even bear to look into the kid's- **Caleb's** \- eyes, and see the scalding question burning within.

 

‘Wait for my call, Evan.‘

he couldn’t even bring himself to call him by his last name like everyone else does.

 _ **Redgrave.** _He bites his lip.

Of course not. He had been ignoring it until that very morning when he shaved, but couldn't get the word out after making three cuts on the chin.

 

_**Redgrave.** _

_He’s not Caleb._ He tells himself.

_He’s not his father. He’s not Caleb._

Over and over again.

_He is not Caleb._

_He’s not Caleb._

_He’s not-_

**Caleb.**


End file.
